The Blake Adventures: Time Heals All Wounds
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Lucien is confronted by the past he's never known, and in order to solve a murder, he must determine who to believe: his best friend or his wife.
1. Chapter 1

**The Blake Adventures: Time Heals All Wounds**

_August 1960_

It was an ordinary day in mid-winter. Lucien Blake was still delighted beyond belief to be a newlywed. Though perhaps eight months was too long to be considered newly wed. He fell asleep holding his darling wife in his arms and woke up in bed beside her each and every day. Such regularity and routine may have been abhorrent to him once. But certainly not anymore.

For how could anyone become bored by being married to Jean? Perhaps it was just because he loved her so very much, but Lucien found her endlessly fascinating. Everything she did was elegant and lovely. Everything she said was witty and kind. Sometimes it nearly boggled his mind that this woman was his wife.

"I do wish you'd stop staring at me," she barked, something she found she'd had to say at least once a week.

Lucien's attention went back to her. He had been lost in thought, not realizing that he'd let the newspaper drop from his hands and his gaze fix upon his beautiful wife. "I am sorry. I got a bit distracted."

"Distracted by what?" she asked. "I'm only dusting. Hardly an alluring task."

"I find everything you do to be alluring, Jean," he replied with a smile.

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Silly man."

Lucien knew it did no good to sit there gawking at her. They didn't have the time to do anything about it, after all. "Will you want to change before we go to the bus station?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Do you think I should? I wasn't planning on it," she replied, frowning down at the dress she wore.

Lucien smiled. "No, I think you look lovely. And you know Matthew won't mind."

Jean's expression brightened. She was very much looking forward to seeing Matthew Lawson again. He'd been doing rehabilitation in Melbourne for the last nine months after he'd been hit by that car and Lucien had performed the surgery to save his leg. Lucien had spoken to him on the phone a time or two, and they'd all exchanged letters in the intervening months. But they had missed him. Matthew was one of the few people Lucien was still close with from his childhood, and even though the working relationship with Chief Inspector Carlyle was a very good one, it was different when Lucien had gotten to work with his dear friend. It also was a dark cloud on their wedding that Matthew had not been there to see Jean and Lucien get married.

It was about an hour later that Lucien drove them both to pick up Matthew. He'd be moving back in with his sister, Vera, for the time being. But Vera was a widow and worked fulltime, so she wasn't able to take time off to meet his bus. Lucien and Jean both jumped at the opportunity.

The bus arrived about two minutes after Lucien had parked the car. A sea of people exited, and among them was a very slow, grumpy cripple. But as soon as he looked up and saw his friends there to greet him, his dour face broke into a brilliant grin. "Hey there, you lot!"

Jean rushed over to embrace Matthew and kiss his cheek. "Oh you look wonderful! It's so glad to have you back," she gushed.

Lucien hugged him as well, masculine expectations be damned. "Welcome home, Matthew," he said softly.

"Good to see some friendly faces. But let's get out of the way. I don't want to be nearby the other passengers," Matthew said, his expression souring quickly.

"Did something happen on the bus?" Jean asked.

Matthew grunted. "Nancy."

Jean's eyes went wide. Lucien frowned in confusion. "Nancy who?" he asked.

The three of them made their way toward the car, Lucien carrying the luggage. Matthew didn't respond until they were out of the crowds. "Nancy Donnelly," he spat.

"I can't believe she's here," Jean said.

Lucien was beginning to get a bit frustrated. "Who on earth is Nancy Donnelly and what's she done to make you both speak of her like the ghost of Christmas bloody past?"

Jean looked to Matthew to be the one to answer. With a healthy dose of irritation in his tone, Matthew explained. "Nancy Donnelly is an absolute cow of a woman and the long and short of what she's done, Lucien, is that she divorced me."

"Oh," Lucien said, mildly stunned. He knew, of course, that Matthew had been married and that it had not worked out. He'd not been married when Lucien had left Ballarat to study in Edinburgh, and the divorce was long past when he'd returned to see his dying father. And now that he thought about it, Lucien knew absolutely nothing about Matthew's failed marriage. Now, at least, he knew the ex-Mrs. Lawson was named Nancy.

"Come along, Matthew, we're taking you to lunch at the Colonists'," Jean insisted, prompting the men to get into the car. Nancy Donnelly was not a proper subject of conversation. Jean knew better than most that Matthew wanted only to forget about the woman's very existence.

Lucien drove them in silence. Jean chatted pleasantly with Matthew, but Lucien was lost in thought. What sort of woman had Matthew Lawson married? What circumstances had led to the divorce. There were only a handful of possibilities; insanity and incest were highly unlikely, which left adultery, cruelty, and desertion as the only candidates. And Matthew said it was Nancy who had divorced him. That would have required proof. Surely Matthew had not committed adultery or abused his wife? Such things were entirely impossible, to Lucien's mind. Matthew Lawson was an honorable man above all else. But the mystery remained.

"So Vera's got everything all ready for you?" he heard Jean ask.

"Yes, I'll be moving in to Rose's old room, actually."

"Oh how is Rose?"

Matthew smiled. "Clever and difficult, as usual. She was kind enough to visit me every week in Melbourne. She's young and busy, of course, but she's a good girl. I'm lucky to have a nice niece like her."

"Well, she's lucky to have a wonderful uncle like you," Jean replied.

Over lunch, Lucien put his curiosity about the Lawson divorce out of his mind and engaged in happier conversation. He and Matthew each had a beer, while Jean opted for seltzer. Cec had the kitchen prepare a special roast chicken in honor of Lawson's return. People came by their table to greet the former Chief Superintendent.

"I was never this popular when I was ordering arrests," Matthew grumbled as yet another well-wisher left them.

"People are glad to see you," Jean said.

"Tell me about my replacement," Matthew asked of Lucien.

Lucien was happy to discuss Frank Carlyle, a man who was a worthy successor to Lawson. Though, to be fair, anyone would have been better than Munro. That was a sentiment Matthew agreed with whole-heartedly.

"And what do you think of him, Jean?" he asked, cutting off Lucien's discussion of Frank's cardplaying skill.

"He's a good copper," Jean said approvingly. "He gives Lucien and me a bit more leniency than you used to, but I don't know that he's learned the lesson yet," she teased.

"Lucien and you?"

Jean couldn't help but smile proudly. "I'm a bit more involved than I used to be."

"About one out of three calls, I bring Jean along," Lucien explained. "She's a great help to me, though sometimes we get frowned upon because my wife is technically a civilian."

"If she had a medical degree, she'd be the one hired instead of you," Matthew grunted.

Lucien just grinned. "Quite right."

Jean blushed furiously.

After an extended afternoon, it was finally time for Matthew to get to Vera's. She'd be home from work by now, and Matthew was eager to see his sister. "Thank you for lunch. It really was good to see you both. Marriage certainly suits you," Matthew noted.

"I quite agree. Marrying Jean is the best thing I think I've ever done," Lucien proclaimed.

Matthew nodded. "Of course it is. You'd be twice the idiot and probably dead if it wasn't for her."

"I'm very happy too, thank you very much," Jean interjected.

The men both gave a little chuckle. Matthew kissed Jean on the cheek as he prepared to make his way into his sister's house. "Your happiness is the most important part. I'm glad he finally got his act together," he told her in a low tone.

"Me too," she answered, just as quietly.

Dr. and Mrs. Blake drove back home after seeing their dear friend to the door. They were both in such a good mood after having seen him. But Lucien's mind was wandering again.

Jean could practically hear him thinking. "Just ask me. I know you want to," she said finally.

"Matthew's wife…"

"Her name is Nancy Donnelly. After the divorce, she took her maiden name back. I never knew her very well. But she certainly did a number on Matthew, poor man," Jean lamented.

"Do you know the grounds for divorce?"

A small smile played on her lips. "It's been bothering you, hasn't it?"

"Well, yes, if I'm being honest."

"She left him. Matthew says she divorced him, but he was the one who had to petition. Desertion, I believe, is the technical term."

"Why did she leave? Do you know?" Lucien asked.

Jean held her hands in her lap in the car, staring at her fingertips. "I don't know anything for certain. Matthew and I weren't very close back then. But there were rumors."

"What rumors?"

"Rumors that she was unfaithful. I don't think he ever came out and accused her, but everyone in town seemed to know. Matthew wasn't Chief Superintendent then. Just a sergeant. And for a while, he was viewed as a rather pathetic creature. Pitied, really."

"How awful."

Jean nodded in agreement. "He keeps to himself for a reason. I don't know that Matthew Lawson ever had a proper friend before you came back."

Lucien was quiet for a moment, thinking. He himself had had a number of close friends through the years. Wherever he went, for most of his life, Lucien had been able to connect with people, to use his natural charisma to attract others to spend time with him. At school, he'd earned the admiration from his classmates for being a bit of a clown and troublemaker. As he grew, he'd been rather popular with the young ladies, garnering praise and respect from his peers. In the army, of course, he'd had his fellow officers to share his company, and his family in Singapore. It was not until after the war when he'd been liberated from the prison camp that Lucien had become something of a recluse. His charm had always been borne of levity and fun, and when he'd been overwhelmed by pain, he kept it to himself. A sad, drunk, broken recluse. It was thanks to Jean and Matthew, probably in equal measure, that he had been able to crawl out from those depths.

Matthew Lawson, on the other hand, was more of a mystery. Lucien remembered him from their childhood. Matthew had always been a bit small. Loved sport, been reasonably clever. A very average boy, never standing out in any manner. Lucien had known him and liked him, but they had not been particularly close. Perhaps it was the sense of loss they both silently shared that had helped bond them together over the last few years. Lucien had never really asked Matthew much about himself. Neither of them was ever very open about their pasts. An error on Lucien's part, he realized.

"Lucien, I'm going to see to the washing. Would you like a cup of tea first?" Jean asked as they parked back at the house.

"No, darling, thank you, I'm fine for now."

Jean didn't like to see him distracted like this. It never seemed to bode well. "Do you have something to occupy you till dinner?" she asked warily.

"I need to update patient files from my appointments yesterday," he answered.

She nodded in satisfaction. "Let me know if you need anything." Jean hung up her coat and immediately set about the laundry she'd been neglecting.

"Jean?" Lucien called to her as he removed his hat.

"Yes?" She turned back and paused in the middle of the foyer.

Lucien took two long strides and wrapped her in his arms, kissing her soundly. He pulled back to tell her, "I love you very much."

Jean was a bit dazed by the sudden onslaught of attention. "Oh. Goodness. Yes, I love you, too," she answered with a slight stammer.

It was in Lucien's mind to try to promise Jean that they wouldn't ever end up like Matthew and his Nancy, that he would love and protect her as best he could, that he would never give her cause to leave him. But the words died in his throat; giving voice to such fears would only serve to make them just a bit more real, and that wouldn't do them any good.

Thankfully, Lucien was saved by the ringing phone. Jean offered to get it, but he told her to see to the laundry. He answered it in the kitchen.

Jean did not go to her laundry, waiting instead to see who had called. Lucien was off the phone a moment later.

"That was Charlie," he told her.

She frowned. "A body?"

Lucien nodded. "A body. Apparently there's already a suspect, but I'll need to attend."

"Of course. Do you need me to go with you?"

His expression softened. "Can the laundry wait?"

"It can wait."

And so the Blakes got themselves back in the car and drove to the address Charlie had given. When they arrived at the public shop, they found Ned and Charlie managing the crowds. Frank Carlyle was kneeling beside the body. Bill Hobart was standing and talking to a very elegant woman, about middle-age, with perfectly coifed blonde hair and immaculate red lipstick.

Jean stopped and grabbed her husband's arm. "Lucien!" she hissed.

"What is it?"

"That's her!"

"Who?"

Jean knew it was rude to point, and she didn't wish to draw attention to them by doing so. She spoke quietly, telling Lucien, "The woman talking to Sergeant Hobart. That's Nancy Donnelly."


	2. Chapter 2

Jean stood beside Lucien, holding her head high, reminding herself that she was a doctor's wife now, that she had strength and dignity and nothing could take that from her. But whatever she told herself was ineffective against the tower of criticism that was Nancy Donnelly. Jean hadn't told Lucien everything about Nancy. She'd told him she hadn't known Nancy well, which was true. But she had not told him that she had gone to school a year behind Nancy Donnelly, and Nancy Donnelly had a few other little friends who saw little Jean Randall with her dirt-stained skirts and old shoes and took great pleasure mercilessly mocking the farm girl.

Such insults were childish, of course, and Jean had grown out of the shame caused by her humble upbringing. But perhaps Nancy had affected Jean more than she wanted to believe. Perhaps those taunts were in the back of her mind when Jean made sure her fingernails were always perfectly painted—despite the amount of labor that meant her polish was often chipped and needed to be redone every few days—and when she made sure her hair was meticulously put into rollers before she went to sleep each night. Perhaps Jean heard Nancy's voice in her head when she did the laundry twice each week to ensure the clothes were clean and when she scrubbed the whole house to be absolutely positive that no there wouldn't be any dirt invading their home. Perhaps Jean's dignity was borne of self-preservation more than anything else.

"Frank, what have we got?" Lucien asked, walking over to see the Chief Superintendent.

"Stabbing," he replied, standing up to greet the Blakes. Frank kept his tone low to avoid the crowds from overhearing.

"Who is he?" Jean asked, looking down to see the bloodied victim whose face she did not recognize.

"Reggie Wallace. From Mildura by way of Melbourne. Supposedly in Ballarat on business with his girlfriend."

Lucien immediately looked over to where Nancy Donnelly was speaking to Bill Hobart. Her face was pale and her body seemed to shiver with anxiety. "That's the girlfriend?"

Frank nodded. "Nancy Donnelly."

"Yes, I've heard of Ms. Donnelly. She's an eyewitness, I assume?"

"Actually, she's our main suspect. Bill's trying to calm her down."

"Bill Hobart?" Jean asked in slight surprise. Bill Hobart was certainly not a man to be relied upon to calm down a frightened woman.

"We don't want her to cause too much of a scene before we arrest her," Frank explained quietly.

Lucien bent down to look at the body. Blood had seeped out all over Reggie Wallace's abdomen, staining his clothes a red so dark, it was nearly black. "You think she stabbed him?"

"One of the shopkeepers made the call when he heard a man yell and then a woman scream, told Ned he saw a blonde woman leaning over a body and crying quite loudly. And when Ned came, Nancy Donnelly was standing there holding the knife. Only she claims she didn't do it," Frank told them.

With a nod, Lucien gave a plan of action. "The body can go to the morgue. I'd like to make sure that the wounds match up with the theory that Nancy stabbed him. Jean, could you speak with her? Make sure she goes to the station quietly?"

That was the last thing Jean wanted to do, but she wanted to help, and so she agreed with Lucien's request. She made her way over to Bill and pasted a kind expression on her face. "Ms. Donnelly, I'm Mrs. Blake," she said softly.

Bill shook his head. "She's not talking. Ned said she was muttering that she didn't do it when he arrived, but by the time we all arrived, she'd clammed up."

But that did not deter Jean. Even if she did feel a surge of irrational annoyance at the fact that a woman who had allegedly stabbed her boyfriend—or at the very least found her stabbed boyfriend and pulled a knife out of his body—could have not one hair out of place nor a single indication of smeared lipstick. "Ms. Donnelly, do you think you can tell me what happened?"

Nancy's eyes darted to Jean's and narrowed in recognition. "I know you."

Jean tried to smile politely. "Yes, we both went to school in Ballarat when we were young."

"Oh."

"Can you tell me what happened to Reggie Wallace?" Jean asked again, certainly not wanting to address their personal history any further.

Nancy's lip started to shake again. "Reggie took good care of me. Really good care of me. He was going to buy a house for us. He promised he was going to marry me!"

"Did he go back on his promise?" Jean guessed. "Is that why you stabbed him?"

But Nancy just shook her head. "I didn't do it!" she insisted before she devolved into tears once more.

Jean wished she could just tell the woman to pull herself together and say something coherent, but antagonizing Nancy was the opposite of calming her down. "Okay, that's alright, do you know who did stab him?"

Nancy shook her head again. Through her sobs, she mustered, "I thought he was still breathing but he had the knife stuck in his belly and I wanted to help."

"Alright, it's alright. Try not to cry anymore now, Nancy," Jean said soothingly. "The police want to talk to you so they can find who killed Reggie. Can you go with Sergeant Hobart, please?"

And finally, Nancy agreed. She sniffed back her tears and reached into her handbag for a silk handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Jean helped escort her into the police car.

By that time, Lucien had already gone into the ambulance with the body to begin the initial examination with Alice. He'd left their car with the keys in the glovebox, so she drove herself home.

It was late afternoon, well past teatime, when Jean finally got back to her laundry. Her mind was filled with memories of Nancy Donnelly and questions about her relationship with Reggie Wallace and who on earth would have stabbed him. Hopefully Lucien's examination of the body and the police interview would yield some more information.

Dinnertime during a homicide investigation was always a macabre but wonderful affair, to Jean's mind. Serving home-cooked food to the people she loved while they all discussed theories for murder was strangely nice. Jean knew her input helped Lucien a great deal, and she was pleased to be able to contribute in a meaningful fashion.

"I think the police are right," Lucien said after thanking Jean for the plate of roast she put in front of him.

She smirked. "That's not a usual opinion from you," she teased.

Charlie got them back on track. "So you think Nancy Donnelly could have stabbed him?"

"It's entirely possible. The knife went into a fleshy part of the stomach. Nothing that would take too much strength. And the knife was sharp. A woman of Nancy's size could have easily caused that wound."

Jean frowned. "But where would she get the knife? Nancy's not the sort of person to keep a knife in her purse. And just as importantly, why would she have done it? Surely if a woman was upset enough to murder a man in an alley behind a shop in the middle of the day, it would be provoked. She might have been in shock, certainly, but I don't see how she could insist on her innocence under those circumstances."

Lucien considered that for a moment. "I'll want to speak with Nancy tomorrow. She'll have settled down, surely, and can carry on a proper conversation."

"I'm going to do some digging into Reggie Wallace. No one here except Nancy Donnelly knows him, so there might be an obvious motive we just don't know about yet," Charlie offered.

Jean nodded and went back to eating her supper. She didn't want to believe that even awful Nancy Donnelly could be capable of murder like that, but Jean has also learned through her time working with Lucien on these cases that nearly anyone is capable of murder. And as much as she hoped she could see the better in people, Jean couldn't help but think in the back of her mind that Nancy Donnelly was absolutely capable of murder.

The front door opened as they were finishing up their meal. Mattie called her greetings from the foyer. Jean informed her that she'd kept a plate warm for the district nurse.

"I was just with Matthew Lawson. I'll be monitoring his recovering while he's here," Mattie explained, sitting down with her food.

"And how is he, in your professional opinion?" Lucien asked. "I didn't get a good diagnostic look at him when we went to lunch."

Jean smiled and began clearing the plates while the doctor and nurse spoke. Charlie got up to help wash the dishes. All was well with her little family—such that it was—and Jean was content.

The following morning began much like any other for Jean. The sun peeked through the windows. She glanced at the clock by her bedside telling her it was barely six. There was a bit of time before she needed to be up and starting the day.

And yet for some reason, Jean felt none of her usual determination to start this particular day. She was perfectly comfortable, warm and cozy but not overheated. Her body was fully relaxed, her mind calm and rested. She rolled over onto her back and turned her head toward her husband.

Lucien was usually a restless sleeper, but she'd gotten used to soothing him and sleeping through his tossing and turning. This night had been no different, it seem, for his body was spread out at such odd angles. He had one arm tossed over his head on the pillow and the other resting on top of the duvet. She could feel the edge of his pyjama bottoms brush against her calf, indicating that his legs were splayed out across practically the whole bed.

Such quiet chaos charmed her, for it was so very _Lucien_. And for that and many other things, she adored him. Never a dull moment, certainly. But it was also that complexity and difficulty that made him so brilliant and compassionate.

Jean freed her arms and gently reached over for Lucien's hand and took it between hers. He emitted a soft noise but did not seem to wake. She indulged in the quiet moment, being able to hold her attention on him without being observed. Rarely, if ever, did she get the opportunity to just look at him without him knowing, without him asking questions or seducing her. None of which she minded, of course, but there was something so special about this early morning study of her husband that Jean treasured.

His hands were always something she'd been drawn to, she knew. As she held one of them and scrutinized it, Jean could see that Lucien had such beautiful hands. The sheer size of his hands was a bit alarming, actually. When he held her close to his body, one of his hands by itself covered nearly the entire expanse of her back. He could almost circle her whole waist with just the circumference of those hands. Massive and powerful, certainly.

Jean traced faint scars on his knuckles, seeing the lingering evidence of the brutality of his hands. Wounds obtained from fights, whether through amateur boxing when he was in school or from combat during the war or from barroom brawls during his lonely drunken years before returning to Ballarat and the period just after he'd arrived.

Her attention then journeyed to his fingers, long and thick but ever so elegant. Fingers that flew over the keys of the piano. Fingers that held a pen and wrote or drew with frightening precision. Fingers that had learned every curve and line of Jean's own body, inside and out.

She brought his hand to her lips and pressed tiny kisses to each of his fingertips, silently thanking God for her husband and his hands. His surgeon hands that had saved countless lives. His musician hands that brought beauty and comfort. His lover hands that had coaxed Jean to ecstasy more times that she could properly fathom. But no matter what his use for them, these were Lucien's hands. And that made them quite the dearest hands in the world to her.

A small glance over to Lucien's face let her know that she was no longer unobserved in her study of him. He propped up his head with his free hand and was watching her hold his hand with a serene smile on his face.

"Good morning," she murmured.

"Good morning," he replied. "See anything interesting?"

Jean knew he was teasing, but she was not in the mood for levity. "Yes, actually. Quite interesting. Most things about you are interesting."

"Even my hand?"

"Especially your hand. Everything about you is mapped out on your hand."

"Is that what you were thinking about just now?"

"Yes. And I was thinking about how dearly I love you."


	3. Chapter 3

Lucien went to the police station to speak with Nancy Donnelly, dreading and anticipating the encounter in equal measure. Jean's words echoed in his head, cautioning him to not let his personal feelings, whatever they may be, get in the way of figuring out who murdered Reggie Wallace. He assured her it wouldn't be a problem. After all, he didn't even know the woman. And she wasn't a part of Matthew's life anymore. Lucien knew her only as a murder suspect who just happened to have once been married to his best friend. Simple as that. He was there to get answers about the investigation, nothing more.

"Ms. Donnelly, I'm Doctor Lucien Blake. I'm the police surgeon. I understand you didn't sleep last night. I was wondering if I might be of some help," he offered kindly as he approached the cell.

Nancy stood up from the cot and tried her best to press back the hair falling loose on her head. "I did have some trouble last night, yes, but I should be past it now. I would be pleased to bathe properly and get a change of clothes."

Her stern patrician tone caused him to falter slightly. Clearly she'd gotten over her shock from the day before. This was hardly the same woman who had fallen mute and meek at the crime scene. "I…I'm afraid I can't help much with that, Ms. Donnelly."

She shrugged. "Pity."

Lucien changed tacks. "I was also hoping that you might be able to answer some questions for me, though. About Reggie Wallace."

"I don't know who killed him. It wasn't me. I did not see anyone. I don't know anyone who would want him dead."

He was taken aback by the rapid-fire answers to every question he was about to ask. Every question but one. "Then can you tell me what you do know? What you saw and how you discovered Reggie with a knife in his belly?"

Nancy Donnelly's mask of strength fell away for a moment, but Lucien blinked and it was back. She squared her shoulders and explained, "Reggie and I were arguing. We argued quite a lot. He was often impulsive and secretive, a combination that I quite liked in a man I was involved with but also led me to significant frustration."

The snobbery of the woman came off her in waves. Lucien disliked her immediately. And perhaps that was what caused him to forget himself and ignore Jean's warning and interrupt. "Ms. Donnelly, have you ever been married?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Have you ever been married?" he asked again.

She was clearly confused by the abrupt conversation shift. "Why…yes. Is that related somehow? My ex-husband has nothing to do with this."

"He was on the bus from Melbourne with you yesterday morning," Lucien informed her, feeling the heat rise inside him.

"Matthew was there? I didn't see him."

"He saw you."

Her brow furrowed rather dangerously. "And what of it? Is Matthew now trying to frame me for murder?"

"Matthew Lawson is a good man," Lucien snarled.

The laughing scoff that fell from her lips made Lucien's blood boil. And instead of arguing with the woman, who clearly wasn't one to speak about with such things, Lucien turned and stormed out of the police station, slamming the door behind him. Nancy Donnelly's shrill laugh kept ringing in his ears.

Jean was in the kitchen polishing some silver when Lucien came barging in. "That woman!" he shouted, practically flinging himself into a chair at the table and putting his head in his hands.

"Ah. I see Nancy's feeling back to herself," she interpreted.

Lucien raised his head. "I thought you said you didn't know her."

"Well, not too personally. But we went to school together. And she's been utterly horrid since I was a child." Jean hoped Lucien wouldn't ask any more questions about her past with Nancy Donnelly, as Jean had no intention of explaining any further. "So what did she say?"

"Not much. Just that she didn't do it and she didn't see who did."

"Well, what did she see? The shopkeeper heard shouting and the next thing anyone knows, she's pulling a knife from his stomach and screaming."

Lucien felt extremely foolish. "I didn't…"

"You didn't ask her?"

"I did, but I may have distracted her from the answer."

"Lucien!" Jean scolded. "You let your personal feelings get in the way, didn't you?"

He sighed, "I honestly didn't think I would have any personal feelings."

"Who brought up Matthew, you or Nancy?"

"I did."

"Why?"

Lucien scrubbed his face with his hands and rested his elbows on the kitchen table. "I don't quite know, actually."

A knock at the door saved them from the agony of that conversation. "You've got patients to see," Jean reminded him. She quickly washed her hands and went to answer the door.

The rest of the afternoon was taken up in the surgery. Lucien had gotten the year's influenza vaccines delivered the week before and his at-risk patients, mostly the elderly, had been coming in to receive the injection.

Lucien was rather exhausted by the time he sent his last patient home and washed up for dinner. Jean was still a bit annoyed at him for thoroughly botching the investigation. She focused her attention on Charlie during the meal.

"Have you looked into Reggie Wallace?" she asked. "Figured out what he was doing in Ballarat?"

"Something to do with his business," Charlie told her in between bites of roasted lamb. "He had meetings with people all over town during the week, but obviously with his untimely death, no one got to see him. Most of what we've found out so far was that he was looking to invest."

Jean frowned. "Invest in what? And why Ballarat? Was it because Nancy's from here?"

"No one seems to know. I interviewed everyone in his appointment book. They all told the same story. Wallace had contacted them by letter to set the appointments and explained only that he was looking for business opportunities and he'd explain more when they met," Charlie said.

"I see," Jean replied, her eyes unfocused as she let the information wash over her mind. Lucien wasn't paying proper attention to this case, and Jean knew that was when she could be of most help to him.

When they'd finished eating, she began to clear the table. Lucien stood up to help her but she stopped him in his tracks.

"Take that new bottle of scotch and go see Matthew," she instructed.

"Right now?"

"Yes," Jean insisted. "You're not going to be able to concentrate until you can get all the answers you're looking for about this whole mess. And I know he doesn't like to talk about it, but maybe when you finish the bottle, he'll be more receptive."

Lucien smiled and kissed her cheek before taking the bottle from the bar cart and heading out to see his friend.

Jean, meanwhile, asked Charlie if he might take her to the station to have a talk with Nancy Donnelly. "Woman to woman. I'm sure being in a jail cell is very frightening. Actually, I know it's very frightening, considering you arrested me last year," she reminded him. After all, a little guilt never hurt in persuading someone for their assistance.

"Yeah, alright," Charlie conceded. "But we can't stay long. I'm not on duty."

Half an hour later, Lucien was sitting on the porch of Vera Anderson's house with Matthew Lawson and a bottle of scotch. They were making polite conversation over their first glass before they fell quiet and looked out into the dark night before them.

"Have you heard what happened yesterday after lunch?" Lucien asked, breaking the silence between them.

Matthew nodded. "Vera showed me the newspaper this morning. She had quite a few words to say. Words I've never heard my sister say, mind you."

Lucien chuckled. "I don't suppose you'll repeat them?"

"Not till I've had more of this," he replied, pouring himself another glass of scotch. "Is that why you're here? Nancy?"

"I suppose so, yes. Though I always like an excuse for a drink with you, Matthew."

He sighed. "Alright, ask me whatever you want to know."

"Well, unlike many other people in town, I don't know a thing about this woman. Especially not her history with you. I'll confess I can't quite see her as your wife."

Matthew laughed humorlessly. "You spoke to her then, did you?"

"Yes. It didn't go very well," Lucien replied delicately.

"I don't imagine it would. Horrible woman."

"That was my impression as well. Whatever compelled you to marry her? Was it…?"

He shook his head. "No, I didn't have to marry her, if that's what you're getting at. No family way, thank goodness. Wouldn't have wanted a child with her. I was just young and bloody stupid. I thought I loved her. And I thought that's what you did when you loved a girl. You ask her father if you could marry her. So that's what I did." Matthew sighed and took another sip of his drink. "She was really lovely back then. Just barely twenty when I proposed. Bright blonde hair, intelligent eyes, the most beautiful mouth. And I liked that she was so strong-willed. I've never seen the appeal in a meek woman who parades around trying to be subservient and perfect. Nancy's always been opinionated and devilishly clever and never afraid to show it. And I thought I loved her."

Lucien stayed quiet and allowed Matthew his walk down memory lane. It was fascinating to hear.

"I couldn't afford much of a ring. And her parents weren't any better off than mine, so the wedding was small and simple. We had our honeymoon on the beach in Geelong. She complained practically the whole time. The sun was too hot, the hotel was rundown, the room was too small, the meals were cheap. I dunno what she expected, she knew who I was and what I could give her. I never put on airs or tried to show off at all. You knew me then, Lucien, and you know me now. Not one for finery and all that."

"No, never," Lucien agreed approvingly.

"Nancy always wanted more than what I could give her. I think she thought I could be promoted through the ranks quickly, that I'd end up a commanding officer and she could go to fancy state police events on my arm. Whatever it was, she made it very clear as often as possible that I wasn't good enough for her, that I disappointed her each and every day. And I was younger than Charlie Davis, then. I didn't know how to make her happy. I eventually just told her that she should go out on her own if I wasn't able to take her where she wanted to go all the time. I guess she took that to mean that she could go to bed with other men and then pack a case and take the bus to Melbourne. You know she didn't even tell me where she was going? Just left a note saying she was leaving and I shouldn't bother trying to find her."

"Oh Matthew, I'm so sorry."

He downed his scotch and finished his tale. "Her mother was kind enough to tell me that she'd gone away and wasn't coming back. But even she wouldn't tell me where Nancy had gone. I think they thought I'd run after her. As though I wanted a wife who didn't want me. It wasn't for another nine months that Nancy finally sent me a letter asking me to petition for divorce so we could be free of each other. That seemed as good a plan as any, so I put together the application, saying that I was the one who sent her away, that I was the deserter. With my affidavit, there was no need for Nancy to do anything except sign her name, and it was done."

Lucien quietly drank his scotch, thinking about Matthew's sad story. If ever a man deserved to have kindness and love, it was Matthew Lawson. Matthew was certainly more deserving than Lucien himself, and he'd been blessed beyond belief to have his Jean. But Lucien had long since learned that life very rarely brings people what they deserve. "You're a good man, Matthew Lawson," he said quietly.

Matthew just gave a small shrug. "Not sure how much that matters some of the time, but a man's character is all he's got some days."

"Too right."

The two men clinked their glasses together and returned to the quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

Jean's heels echoed in the hallway with each step down to the holding cell where Nancy Donnelly was being kept. Jean clutched the paper bag tightly in her hands and tried to keep her nerves at bay. She had no real reason to be nervous, she knew. She was Mrs. Blake, a doctor's wife and a respected member of the community. Even so, Jean surreptitiously looked down at her dress and her shoes to make sure she didn't have any dirt or scuffs anywhere. Silly, really. Jean had not lived on the farm in over a decade. But something about Nancy Donnelly just brought back all of the old worries.

"Hello, Ms. Donnelly. I'm not sure if you remember me from yesterday, I'm Jean Blake," she greeted politely. "I know how difficult it is to be in that cell all alone, and after the horrible events of yesterday. I brought some muffins for you, if you'd like them."

Nancy approached the bars of the cell and cautiously accepted the bag. "Thank you," she replied quietly.

"You're welcome."

The two women fell into a rather awkward silence. Nancy was staring at Jean, scrutinizing her. Finally she said, "I remember you. Not just from yesterday. We were young. You were a scrawny, sloppy farmgirl."

Jean was practically vibrating with rage, but she kept herself under control. "I did used to live on a farm but that was a very long time ago. My husband is the police surgeon," Jean boasted.

"I suppose that would be a step up for you," Nancy commented rudely, shrugging with disinterest.

It was very easy to see how Lucien had gotten distracted from his purpose and stormed out after Nancy got him riled up. Jean was nearly ready to turn on her heel and escape back home. But she would not lose sight of her goal. She would not let Nancy have the pleasure of knocking her off balance. Jean stood up straight and squared her shoulders and asked, "Ms. Donnelly, now that you're in a better state to speak, could you tell me what happened to Reggie? I do believe that you did not kill him, but you must've able to help figure out who did."

"I already told the police and you and your husband that I didn't see anything. We were arguing and he pulled me into the alley to not make a scene but I told him to go to hell and stormed off down the street. But when he didn't follow, I went back to apologize, and he'd already been stabbed by then. I didn't see anyone there. I tried to help. We may have fought a lot, but I did love him," Nancy insisted.

_Like you claimed to love Matthew, you miserable cow?_ Jean thought to herself, intelligently keeping such thoughts to herself. "Alright, well, perhaps you can tell me what you and Reggie were doing in Ballarat? The police don't seem to know," she asked aloud. Hopefully Nancy couldn't see the way Jean's knuckles were turning white where she held onto her handbag.

Nancy frowned. "Just business. My parents died a long time ago, and I haven't got any other family. No real reason to come back for my sake. But I did want to see the town again, so I made Reggie bring me with him. Besides, if he was going to make enough money to get us out of trouble, I wanted to be here to help."

"What sort of trouble?" Jean asked immediately, hoping to steer Nancy onto something useful and not prattling on about her romantic entanglement with the deceased.

There was a nervous, twitchy sort of expression on Nancy's face. She leaned forward and spoke in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. "In Melbourne, Reggie was involved with some not-so-nice people. I think perhaps he owed some money to the mob."

"Some money?"

"A lot of money."

"And he was coming to Ballarat to make money to pay off his debts? How?"

She sighed, "See that's just it. Reggie didn't want to have to pay off the debts. That's what we were fighting about. I told him he was being stupid, trying to outsmart people like that. Reggie wasn't ever very smart. Thought he was, but I think he'd have been dead a lot sooner if it wasn't for me getting him out of hot water."

Jean furrowed her brow in frustration. Nancy had an annoying habit of speaking a lot and saying very little. "So what was his plan to outsmart the mob?"

"He wanted to get a controlling interest in as many Ballarat businesses as he could. The town is big enough to catch Melbourne's attention but small enough to keep a relatively low profile. He was going to leverage the business interests and try to convince whoever it is that the debts weren't worth collecting or that Reggie was too powerful to be intimidated or something like that. Stupid bloody man." Nancy's voice hitched slightly, her emotion betraying her harsh words.

"What went wrong, do you think?" Jean asked, injecting some soft kindness into her voice.

"I don't know. I know he didn't have the money to buy a new suit let alone business interests. The plan was never going to work. But I don't know how anyone could have found out about it!"

_Maybe because you were shouting in a public street about it, you absolute…_ Jean stopped herself from thinking the end of that sentence. Being rude, even in her own mind, was uncalled for.

Before Jean could say anything else to Nancy, Charlie called for her. They'd already overstayed their welcome at the station. He needed to drive her home. Jean thanked Nancy and told her to enjoy the muffins and hurried away, hoping to never have to see that woman's face ever again.

Jean spent the car ride telling Charlie what Nancy had told her, and as they pulled up to the house, she concluded by suggesting, "Contact Melbourne for Reggie Wallace's known associates or anyone with possible mob connections, and see if any of them may have followed Reggie and Nancy to Ballarat. If Reggie was being watched by the mob and he was overheard telling Nancy of his plan that would never work, that might have been enough to get him killed when Nancy left him alone, just for that minute."

Charlie parked the car and smiled. "You know, you'd be a great detective if you wanted to be."

She placed an affectionate hand on his arms. "I'm much happier right where I am, taking care of you lot. I'm just lucky that taking care of you and Lucien often involves getting to solve crimes for the police as well," she said with a smile.

They went inside and found Lucien coming down the stairs. "There you are! Where have you been?" he asked with concern.

Charlie told Jean he was going to bed and hurried up the stairs past Lucien. Jean hung up her coat and put her purse on the side table. "I was at the police station. Charlie drove me, since I can't very well go by myself after hours. I didn't think you'd beat me home, or I'd have left a note." She sighed and felt her shoulders slump with the weight of the day. "I must say, I am glad you're here."

Lucien approached her swiftly. "You are? Why, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Jean said, knowing that wasn't quite the truth. "I'm just tired. I'd like to have an early night and a quiet cuddle, if it's alright."

He put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. "Of course, my darling. Let's get up to bed."

As Lucien watched his lovely wife perform her nightly ritual of undressing and slipping on her nightgown and sitting at the vanity to wipe off her makeup and put some beautiful-smelling creams all over her skin, he could not help but feel his heart expand with his regard for her. She did not mind his audience while she removed every bit of artifice, from her foundation garments to her lipstick, and twist her hair into rollers and tie it up with a hairnet. All of the little domestic intimacies he was privy to as her husband. Jean did not hide from him, nor did she expect him to hide from her. Neither of them sought to make the other into anything or anyone but exactly who they were. And he loved her all the more for it.

"Jean," he called softly, already in his pyjamas and watching her from their bed.

She looked at him in the mirror of her vanity. "Yes, Lucien?"

"You know that I love you just as you are."

She smiled. "Yes, I know. And I love you just as you are."

He smiled back at her. They watched each other quietly for a moment. Lucien broke the silence when Jean returned to her finishing bedtime touches. "I spoke to Matthew about Nancy."

"And how did that go?" she asked, making her way to the bed and pulling down the sheets on her side.

"Very well. Theirs is an extremely unfortunate story. He said she always wanted him to be more than he was when he never did anything to make her believe he could be, and rather than continue to disappoint his wife, Matthew just let her go, told her to find happiness elsewhere."

"I don't think she found it," Jean interjected darkly.

"Neither of them did. I can't believe that anyone would treat Matthew Lawson that way. He's a bit grumpy sometimes, but he's just…he's a good man. And he deserves better."

"I agree." Jean settled into bed and rested her head against Lucien's shoulder, cuddling up to his chest.

He kissed the top of her head and whispered, "I won't ever let that happen to us, Jeanie. I never want to assume you're happy and wake up one day and find that you're not. I want to be everything you need me to be."

"I need you to be just as you are, and I need you to come home to me every day and fall asleep beside me every night," she told him firmly.

Lucien was satisfied with that. "Good," he murmured.

Jean fell silent again, turning the day over and over in her mind. She did not want to cause Lucien any more worry, not when the reality of Matthew's divorce had clearly left him a bit reeling. But he had confessed his fears to her, and it was only right that she should trust him enough to confide in him with her own. "I didn't tell you everything about Nancy Donnelly."

"When you went to see her at the police station?"

"No, from before. When we were young."

"You went to school with her, yes? You said she wasn't very nice to you. Was there more?" he asked with concern.

"Nancy and her friends lived in town. They all got new clothes and new shoes for school every year. My mother made my clothes from old sheets and drapes, and I got my sister's shoes when she grew out of them. I didn't have new clothes or shoes from a store until after I was married. And I wouldn't have minded if it wasn't pointed out to me each and every day. Nancy was the ringleader and she'd always loudly remark at the dirt on my skirts and the mud on my shoes and the frayed hems of my sleeves. She would get everyone gathered in a big circle in the schoolyard to point and laugh at the sloppy farmgirl, the runt of the litter of pigs. Never mind that we didn't have pigs on our farm, but Nancy liked to evoke an image I think.

Lucien was utterly horrified by the cruelty Jean described with such relative calm. "That is abominable, how dare she!"

"It was almost enough to make me want to quit school altogether. And I nearly did. My parents wouldn't have minded, there was always work to do on the farm. But I wanted more than anything to learn and to see the world and to make something of myself. I had big dreams. And I would be damned before I would let Nancy Donnelly stop me," Jean replied resolutely.

As was so often the case, Lucien felt so proud of his wife, he was fit to burst with it. "Well done, Jean," he said softly.

"Though I suppose, in a way, Nancy did stop me," she realized. "Nancy always picked on me and once we were teenagers, it was Christopher who would stand up for me and comfort me after Nancy got bored of trying to get a reaction from me. And the closer I got to Christopher, well…" Jean trailed off. They both knew the end of that story.

"It all worked out for the best, I suppose. But I wish it hadn't been so hard for you."

Jean shrugged slightly. "It's all in the past now. I hadn't thought about that for years. But having to be in that hallway and try to be kind to Nancy Donnelly as she once again called me a scrawny, sloppy farmgirl was nearly more than I could bear."

"Oh that absolute cow!" Lucien growled in annoyance.

That made Jean chuckle slightly. "I'll always be glad to have you as my white night defender. But no need to be upset about it now. I don't think we'll have to speak to Nancy Donnelly ever again."

Jean proceeded to tell Lucien about what Nancy had said and the conclusions Jean had drawn and the recommendations she'd given to Charlie about it. The police could surely handle it from there.

It only took two days after that for Anthony Murrick to be located. He had been on the same bus as Nancy and Reggie, and he was known to Melbourne police as a close associate of the mob boss to whom Reggie Wallace owed over two thousand pounds. Murrick confessed during interview with Charlie. Nancy was free from custody to return to Melbourne, which she did within hours of her release.

The Blakes, meanwhile, kept to themselves for a few days. Lucien had a few patients to see. Jean had the usual housework on. They stayed at home in their own little bubble, each quietly recovering from the veritable shellshock that Nancy Donnelly had wrought on their lives. But at the end of the week, Matthew Lawson came over for dinner. The friends all laughed and enjoyed each other. Time passed, and everything was alright again.


End file.
